


The Unbound

by ivymyst



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Elves, F/M, Family Issues, Orcs, Original Character Death(s), Romance, Slow Burn, Torture, Unethical Experimentation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-12 08:22:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16869502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivymyst/pseuds/ivymyst
Summary: It is already dangerous times when Ciradwen and her companions escort a party to Rivendell and their journey is cut short. They soon face an unfamiliar menace and a whole new story begins that changes the course of her life in ways she could never want or imagine, sadly learning that the horrors endured under the hands of the enemy can never compare to the pain of rejection from one's own kin. Haldir/OFC.





	1. The Doomed Party

**Author's Note:**

> This was sitting in my drafts for a really, really long time and I thought I'd put it out just to see if it was something worth continuing. I'm not anywhere near being a Tolkien scholar so a lot of things in here are just creative speculation and so I decided to call it an AU just to be safe.

It was an errand hindered by darkness.  
  
Ciradwen, tireless as she was by nature, still felt the heavy hopelessness that seemed to permeate the night, acutely feeling of something unkindly in the way the moon shined upon their party of seven before it was engulfed by dark clouds.  
  
The wardens, four in total, had been tasked with escorting the trio of traveling scribes. They’d gone silently, taking light steps by the edges of trees, keeping low on mountain passes, aided by the grace and agility gifted to their kind and keen to be swift and cautious.  
  
Through the plains they held close, rarely sparing a moment to rest unless needed, not because of some new ill word or warning held in the wind, but of a vague premonition peculiarly shared among them early on, now that they were days into the journey and the memory of it had not faded easily.  
  
Ciradwen had felt no peace since then, always circling and moving at the lightest disturbance near or far off and she had not been alone in this anxiety.  
  
“We will be there soon enough,” assured her companion, Lethelrin, whose fingers lazily and almost inelegantly thrummed the string of his bow.  
  
He seemed at ease, thought Ciradwen, the long braids behind his pointed ears wavering with his movements but she did not miss the uncertain flickering of his gaze, ever ready as she and the others were to defend or flee if need be.  
  
They had now stopped reluctantly, the beginnings of a strong storm emerging rapidly and were able to take shelter at the mouth of a dense cavern. The entrance was wide, which seemed good for quick escapes but it had left them feeling exposed.  
  
“The lot of you make for the most dire company,” said Roanir with mild exasperation. His side rested against the cavern wall, the light of their fire illuminating his upturned profile eerily and casting a large shadow behind him.  
  
“Dire times may lie ahead, Roanir,” said Ciradwen. “But you are right,” she then added quickly, “that does not mean we cannot try to ease each others hearts at least. Lethelrin, sing for us, something to make us smile and forget we are wary.”  
  
Lethelrin smirked, a mild quirk in his brow forming. “I thought you did not like my singing.”  
  
“Don’t be absurd. Of course I like it, just not when I am thinking or _trying_ to,” she clarified. “There are times for silence and times for pretty words and pretty tunes, do you not agree?”   
  
“Aye, I agree. But perhaps I do not feel inspired yet, unless sweetly compelled,” Lethelrin replied cheekily, his dimpled smile showing.  
  
“Will you be sweetly compelled when I take that bow from you to keep it safe from your crude handling of it? It is not an instrument, Lethelrin,” said Ronair with an admonishing look.  
  
“Depends on your definition, does it not?” replied Lethelrin easily, un-chided by Roanir.   
  
“Sometimes I think you do not deserve it, with the way you treat it,” scoffed Roanir.  
  
“You are merely jealous that archery is still your failing,” said Lethelrin.  
  
“Let us see then!”  
  
“Now who is the dire company,” muttered Melveroë softly, her eyes intent on sharpening the blade of her sword. “Both of you have soured an otherwise peaceful night.”  
  
“Something is approaching,” said Lethelrin suddenly, rising to face the outside where the rain still poured heavily and had begun slowly flooding in. The other wardens rose as well, abandoning their tasks and banter, ready to meet whatever lie in wait for them. Their charges were also not timid at this news, and while not as skilled, they would not submit themselves to inaction if it arose that they should all partake in battle. Terenes, Vildorne and Soldarith were valued scribes, carrying on a mission of their own deemed just important enough to have gained escort of four trained warriors.   
  
“I do not see anything,” said Ciradwen. “This downpour is too thick.”   
  
Just then lightening cracked sharply, striking a tree with such a force that it split and came down, the bright flash revealing where it fell in the path just outside. Ciradwen peered intently in that direction, watching for the silent flashes of light from the sky that shown nothing but wet land and shaking trees, but there was something just as Lethelrin said. It was muted by all the noise of nature’s wrath and she almost swore their was a musical, yet entirely ominous, tune to it. It was not imagined.  
  
It grew louder, only deafened by more cracks and booms of thunder and lightening that seemed to come as aftershocks to the great tree’s demise. Whatever unease they all thought they had felt, it had finally come to a head. _This is it_ , thought Ciradwen, this is at last what we had all envisioned.  
  
“It seems as if the dark omen of our first night will reveal now what it intends for us,” said Melveroë, her blade raised before her and her grey eyes shining wide with trepidation. “Surely if it is orcs then we can take care of them,” said Terenes, almost shouting now that all the noise from the outside had risen to a high roar that echoed in the cavern as it had not before. Even their fire had seemed to dim at the expectation and almost fading courage. But they did not have to wait long.  
  
Many darkened figures appeared trudging down the slopes to the path that led straight to them, far too many to count and effectively trapping them it seemed. The bent, gnarled shapes holding crude and ghastly armor revealed what they had all expected: orcs. Ciradwen and the other wardens with her were not strangers to battle, nor were they unfamiliar with the tactics and loathsome qualities that orcs possessed and nor were they naive in what would soon take place. She held her stance, as did the others, and tried to quash the sickening fear and dread that filled her insides like jagged pieces of ice. Too much blood would soon be shed in this darkness.  
  
Roanir shared a quick, yet strained glance with Melveroë, one that she could not read the intention behind, but there was some comfort she found that at least they each would not die alone.  
  
“Oh,” they heard one of the scribes say behind them in such a tragic whisper, they did not know who it was that had emitted the word but it was full of such pathetic anguish that spoke clearly of what they surely felt but would or could not express. It was curious, however, that their foes seemed to file in at such a leisurely pace. Ciradwen did not know what to think of such…careful actions.  
  
“In dark places we find treats,” jeered one orc who neared, his yellowed teeth bared as he spoke and laughed before adding, “but they will be for our master to _keep_.”  
  
“Shut it,” growled another, shoving back the one who spoke.  
  
The party of orcs soon moved, shifting aside to reveal a cloaked figure that had been hidden, but how they did not know for it was a brightly colored one of red. Tall, lean and most definitely not an orc. Only the straight mouth and narrow jaw of the stranger was visible until pale hands removed the hood and they were all shocked to see the face of another _elf_.  
  
A haughty gaze regarded them all carefully and Ciradwen felt a chill rise up her spine at the inspection.  
  
“They will do,” he said simply.  
  
Lethelrin did not wait for any signal before he sent an arrow flying straight to strange elf’s heart. His arrows were always true, but with a swift wave of the elf’s hand the arrow snapped in mid air and was thrown to the side as it lost all force, utterly defying nature.  
  
They were doomed, thought Ciradwen.  
  
  
“Who are you?” Roanir cried out, his expression torn in alarm and outrage.  
  
But the elf did not answer, merely nodding his head to orcs that flanked him as he stepped aside, signaling the start of battle with a raised hand. Loud cries of fury came from the elves and then horrid shrieks from the orcs followed, then joined by the clang of warring blades loosed arrows that zipped through the air for a target.  
  
Ciradwen struck one orc down first, partially severing the creature’s head from its short neck before she kicked it away and defended herself against another whose wretched face seemed to be devoid of features with only lumps of mottled flesh where a nose and lips should have been, its slit pupils gazing upon her hungrily before fading to lifelessness as she dealt it a harsh blow of her sword, effectively cleaving the top of its skull before striking against another foe who tried to best her from behind.  
  
“Retreat into the cavern!” she heard the scribe Terenes shout to his own and they did as he bade, disappearing into the darkness as the other wardens tried to block the force of the orcs from following them, but Ciradwen instantly knew it to be pointless.  
  
  
Her companions in arms were tireless, but their numbers were too low compared to this small army of orcs that had been summoned from out of nowhere.  
  
Ciradwen turned at the sound of Melveroë’s yelp and subsequent grunt of submission, watching as three bared down on her, yanking her hair back and delivering harsh blows to the she-elf's midsection.  
  
"No!"  
  
Distracted, she barely ducked the slam of a jagged shield before running towards the scene with Roanir and Lethelrin joining to try and save their companion, too, but Roanir was pulled back by many rough hands and he was knocked down as well. It was not long before Lethelrin joined him, failing in his own attempt as he was overwhelmed.  
  
Ciradwen was then left alone to flounder among jeering orcs too great in number, circling her menacingly before flinging globs of mud at her eyes and face, trying to blind her and pull her down while fought in the heavy rain and muck. No orc helped their own whose limbs she hacked, of course, them being merely pushed aside so that they could continue their sport of breaking her down as if it were an entertainment.  
  
All it took was a moment of reprieve when seeing through the rain, grime and blood stained vision, her attention fell on Roanir some ways away whose legs had been hacked viciously at the calves, though still attached. His leather boots were stained red and black from the mingling blood that would not wash away so easily while Melveroë lay prone beside him and Lethelrin clutched at his side, not uninjured himself. One side of his face bled profusely over his grey robes and when his arm was kicked away by a grubby boot she saw that his ear was missing.  
  
Their defeat had come too quickly and they cursed as they were hauled up only to be restrained by burning, coarse ropes, too weak and sick in their hearts to put up anymore resistance except the feeble attempts to break free that were quickly met with harsh blows.  
  
“What will you do with us?” asked Lethelrin, his head tilted to the side as blood poured from his ear. The orc closest to him merely smiled.  
  
Just then shouts of horror and dismay filled the cavern once more and they knew at one that it was Terenes, Vildorne and Soldarith had at last been captured as well.  
  
The elf cloaked in red appeared again, his rabble of many orcs parting in waves for him as he looked down on Lethelrin.  
  
“The time will come when you will thank me,” the elf in red said, not even the faintest flicker of an emotion on his narrow face. His eyes were the lightest shade of blue Ciradwen had ever seen with dark thick brows arched high, and Ciradwen swore they held no life, too closely resembling the dead look of a corpse with open eyes as if they were sightless, though she knew he was not blind when his unsettling gaze met hers sharply, cutting into her stare before he turned his attention from her and then to Roanir and Melveroë, and then at the three scribes who were brought on their knees to join them.  
  
They had failed to protect them.  
  
“Who is the eldest?” the elf in red asked. None replied.  
  
“Speak or I shall cut this one’s throat,” he said, revealing a great sword from his robe and pointing it at the throat of Vildorne who trembled, eyes darting wildly around and unable to settle on anything as he contemplated their fate.  
  
“I am,” said Terenes finally.  
  
“What does it matter? Who are you?” Roanir demanded, his lips now stained red, a large bruise forming beneath his left eye.  
  
The crowd of fifty or more orcs around them jeered again, rattling their shields and beating crude drums in anticipation.  
  
“It matters very much,” the elf said in passing, stepping in front of Terenes with his sword raised. “By how much older do you think you are compared to the rest of your party?”  
  
“At least several hundred years,” Terenes replied uneasily, but holding stronger than another scribe at his side who practically wept in terror.  
  
“Forgive me,” said the elf flatly.  
  
“Forgive you for what? Of what do you spea–” said Terenes, silenced and for a moment no one knew why, having seen only a glint of silver and the swift movement of the other elf’s robes.  
  
It was Soldarith who screamed, unable to contain her shock and grief as Terenes’ own head slid from his shoulders and fell from his still kneeling body and rolling between Ciradwen and Lethelrin who had paled in utter horror at the sight. Ciradwen’s mouth fell open slack and she recoiled when the body at last fell forward, the ends of Terenes’ blonde locks still held to his shoulders, sheared so swiftly and when they fell they parted and fanned out into the mud before quickly moving blood soaked them up.  
  
“My name is Amondur, your new master,” said the elf, wiping the blood from his blade with a cloth.  
  
“You are no master of ours,” spat Lethelrin whose body shook, blood still pouring from the wound where his ear had once been.  
  
“Perhaps not yet, and I will not pretend that you do not hate me, but I will give you the greatest _gift_ , and in the end you will surely see fit to accept it,” said Amondur.  
  
“You are a monster, whoever you claim to be and you are worse than any orc, you are _filth_!” Ciradwen shouted, much to the delight of the orcs who watched on with eager blood lust, hopeful that she should meet a similar end as Terenes.  
  
“May we take his flesh, master?” said a simpering orc hunched low, appearing beside Amondur hopefully and openly salivating at the sight of fallen elf.  
  
“Do not speak to me,” hissed Amondur sharply, pulling his robes away from the pathetic grasp of the greedy orc who longed to taste newly spilled blood.  
  
The scribe Soldarith’s head hung low as she wept, her face turned away into her own shoulder and facing Vildorne who looked as if time had ceased, wide eyes fixed on the ground and appearing sickly, likely hearing nothing but the rush of blood in his ears that matched the sound of the heavy rainstorm that had not yet let up.  
  
Ciradwen had seen the death of her own kind before, but the act so plain and brutal before her made her mind halt and she could feel no hope or even any reasoning on what they should do to survive. There was no peace to be made.  
  
“Place his head on a pike, leave it as a gift to whomever comes to look for you, if they even will. Leave a trail with the body,” ordered Amondur plainly before adding, “perhaps if he is not eaten too much your fellow wardens will recognize him.”  
  
There was no humor or mocking in his words, but still Ciradwen closed her eyes, feeling it unbearable that he should speak so cruelly.  
  
“Why…” wept Soldarith softly to herself.  
  
Amondur turned to her and placing a hand on her head he stroked her hair softly to which she naturally cringed away from, but Amondur seemed to take no notice or offense at this and continued petting her ever so gently as if she were his own to comfort. Soldarith let out a loud wail of despair that echoed in their ears until she could hold herself up no more and pitched herself forward to lie in the muck, utterly spent from grief.  
  
“You will not fade,” assured Amondur before leaving her and turning back to the wardens. He looked to them but spoke to his own. “Cover their faces and take them with us while our tracks can still be washed away.”  
  
“You are not an elf, but a beast,” said Roanir as a foul sack was thrown over his head, not alone as others faced the same treatment.  
  
They all saw darkness, and soon _knew it_ , as great blows were delivered to the backs of each of their heads.  
  
The last thought Ciradwen had was of home, of Lorien, and of the life she still had wanted to live there.


	2. The Wreath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How things began, as well as a look at the first blossom of feeling between Haldir and Ciradwen back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place before the events of Chapter One.

There were many things that Ciradwen loved, but what she loved most of all was the coming season of the festivals and banquets that the elves held to honor many things, most of all their home in the golden wood.  
  
Decorations were made, some of elaborate floral arrangements and others of thin cut paper and ribbons weaved that were placed in and around the talans, stairwells and rails of which the elves residing did frequent by. Lanterns leading along paths were hung carefully and accompanied by such pretty things and when they shone and sparkled in the night so that Ciradwen truly felt peace at its beauty, never tiring of all the lovely things that were made. All the elves she was closest to had decorations placed outside their doors, either by themselves or by the ones they loved and it fell in line of tradition long ago that having an arrangement, no matter how grand or meager, brought tranquil prosperity and good and kind thoughts to whomever had them, as well as to their kin.  
  
So, it was peculiar to Ciradwen when on her many strolls through her home that passing one elf’s house she saw that there was none, not even the tiniest bit of string or petal when their brothers who resided below had arrangements of their own. Ciradwen stopped, staring at the railing by their door and she thought long, glad that it was late in the evening and not many would notice her standing as an odd one might, doing nothing of importance save for the possible flimsy excuse of deep contemplation on things certainly not at all embarrassing.  
  
But _this_ was embarrassing, especially to Ciradwen who felt unaccustomed to such strange feelings that she herself could not decipher.  
  
A light flickered in the window and she started, not at all wishing to be seen and jolting to continue her walk, but not without looking back and getting altogether funny ideas in her head.  
  
The elf in question was one she knew and knew quite well enough, as well as an inferior would know a superior in rank, quite on speaking terms yet ever distant and never in any range of familiarity or closeness save for the occasional instruction or order which often varied between mild and harsh. No, he was not a friend, but she admired him greatly and even envied him and the respect he had commanded.  
  
Ciradwen made up her mind when she reached the door of her own talan and slipped in on light steps, ones that still did not go unnoticed by her elder brother, Orlefen, putting her thoughts aside when she found him sitting by a window.  
  
“Did you enjoy your stroll?” he asked, not looking up from the book he’d buried his nose in.  
  
“Very much,” said Ciradwen lightly enough, removing her shoes and working to undo the braids of her hair, walking to sit beside her brother and peeking at what had entranced him so. She tilted her head, attempting to read the partially obscured title.  
  
“How goes your reading, brother?” Ciradwen asked, genuinely curious.  
  
“Quite well,” was all he said, still not bothering to look up.  
  
“Do you recommend it?”  
  
“I do.”  
  
“Can I borrow it when you are finished?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You’ve never been keen to share, have you?” she said smirking and leaning back in her seat, the tips of her fingers playing a jarring beat on the armrest.  
  
“Of course not,” replied Orlefen, a smirk of his own appearing as he finally shot her a brief glance. The two did resemble each other, Ciradwen thought, but it was Orlefen that reminded her most of their parents, which at times brought sadness and sometimes comfort for they had sailed away long ago. Their long hair was of a darker blonde, hanging below their shoulders as was the style and they both held similar brown eyes, almost golden, though they expressed them differently.   
  
Orlefen’s gaze often held a jaded seriousness, whereas Ciradwen’s was lively and curious.  
  
In temperament he was often grim, distrusting, and far too occupied with notions of propriety and respectability that it left him with an often prejudiced outlook. Ciradwen, however, strove to not find any fault at others even when at times it had cost her. She was gentle and caring by default, but not without fierceness, intensity, or the ability to anger. She could control herself and not get carried by such strong feelings, just as her brother could, but she could not look away from the circumstances of others as he often did and it was her empathy that he said was her most noble yet greatest failing. “ _You will someday be very disappointed in others_ ,” he’d warned her once.  
  
“ _Of course I will, and I often have already, but why should I change what I have always felt… that others deserve pity before contempt_?” Ciradwen had told him then.   
  
He’d shaken his head and walked away as was his nature whenever they disagreed on anything. It aggravated Ciradwen, but she would ignore him and busy her mind with other things, or exert her energy on training to quell any feelings of exasperation that he seemed to rise in her.  
  
“Poor Haldir had not a single decoration outside his door, did you notice?” said Ciradwen suddenly to which Orlefen tried to ignore. “Is it not strange?”  
  
“It really does not matter much, does it?” Orlefen asked her, annoyed. “The whole thing is frivolous.”  
  
“Frivolous? You used to like it!”  
  
“I didn’t say it was unlikable.”  
  
“No, I suppose you did not,” she huffed. “I thought it strange that his brothers were not without, however.”  
  
“If you are so concerned why don’t you make one for him yourself? Likely he doesn’t care and has no interest in such silly things and when you make one for him he will tell you so himself and you might learn your lesson,” said Orlefen crossly.  
  
“What a good idea, brother,” said Ciradwen brightly, rising in her seat. “I will do just that, but I will not let him know it is from me. That way he cannot scold or mock me for it,” she said with some satisfaction. “And I think he would feel actually touched by it, after all I have spent far more time with him than you ever have.”  
  
Orlefen said nothing, turning a page of his book loudly as he let out a deep exhale from his sharp nose.  
  
“Will you attend tomorrow’s banquet?” Ciradwen asked, changing the subject as she lingered in the hallway after having gotten up.  
  
“Of course,” he said.  
  
“Good. You shall be my date,” she said cheerily before disappearing, but not bothering to catch his weary look.  
  


  
The night came and with it Ciradwen’s excitement grew, practically glowing beside Orelfen who appeared meek and regal in his pale blue tunic, overcoat, and matching leggings. Ciradwen had worn a simple gown of plum and grey colors, having done her hair partially up and the rest falling to hang over one shoulder but all her joy would lie with watching others, meeting and greeting, as merrymaking commenced.  
  
“Orelfen! It is great to see you,” came a voice from behind them and they turned to see the face of Rumil bounding up the steps to meet them.  
  
“Same to you, friend. How do you fare? My sister tells me nothing of what the wardens keep up with,” said Orelfen as he clasped Rumil’s arm and smiling.  
  
“Oh, it is good to know that Ciradwen keeps our secrets,” he said jokingly, nodding to Ciradwen who merely shrugged lightheartedly. “But I am well, thank you for asking, Orelfen. I long for our old conversations! It has been ages and I should feel that my intellect suffers for it.”  
  
“I could not imagine such a thing,” said Orelfen to which Rumil laughed quietly and then pulling Orelfen into a deep dialogue, ignoring Ciradwen who didn't mind and looked around as the two conversed while keeping a careful eye for the elf who had seemed to occupy her thoughts of late, ignoring the small voice that whispered to her cruelly; saying she was too old for such games or fancies.  
  
When at last she saw him she quickly and carefully schooled her expression into something meeker and more neutral just as he approached with a far sterner countenance than she would have expected, at least on a day of celebration. He wasn’t all sweetness, and could most definitely be sour, but she had never found him to appear so cross at such gatherings before and it seemed to spark her curiosity while also dimming her happiness, effectively reminding her of the duties they held. She nodded to him and he returned the gesture, though not stopping, and walking past them and leaving Ciradwen to consider what must have been on his mind. She usually did not let the moods of others change her own, but something in the way he’d carried himself had in fact altered her mood and not for the better.  
  
“Orelfen,” said Ciradwen to her brother, who had been nodding to something Rumil spoke of, “I’m going to take a turn about the hall.”  
  
Orelfen nodded distractedly at this and motioned his hand at her as if to shoo her away.  
  
She felt a loneliness sneak up on her as she stood among the large gathering, watching the others mingle and converse. The Lord and Lady themselves had yet to arrive and so it was not until then that the festivity would truly begin. She searched the crowd, seeing many familiar faces but of none she would have liked to speak to until she spotted Lethelrin a few feet away examining the contents of a fountain quite carefully. It amused Ciradwen and she went to meet him before her path was blocked and she was met with the face of Terenes, a scribe and who was somewhat of an acquaintance to her.  
  
“Ciradwen, forgive me for intruding, but I must speak with you on an urgent matter,” Terenes said, a familiar look of gravity in his features that reminded her of Haldir, but not quite as handsome.  
  
“Of course, shall we go somewhere to speak?”  
  
“Yes, yes, privacy is best. Please, follow me,” he said walking and Ciradwen followed. Terenes led her away from the others, leaving the atrium and walking some ways away before he at last stopped in a small garden alcove suspended high up with a narrow bridge leading to it and seating himself uneasily at a bench, motioning her to join him. In any other circumstance it would seem far too intimate, like meeting a lover, but Ciradwen knew he had no such things on his mind.  
  
“I must depart from Lorien,” he said gravely. “There is an urgent, urgent affair of an academic nature, though still very important, mind you, that I and a few others must tend to. However, to do so we must travel to Rivendell. I have already spoken to Haldir and he deems the idea unwise,” said Terenes, his fists clenched over his knees. His blue eyes appeared lost, something cast away in his heart as he mulled over something that troubled him. His nostrils flared in agitation and she did not miss the way he pursed his lips, fidgeting in his seat as if his whole body was ready to jump and flee.  
  
“Well, if Haldir advises…” began Ciradwen gently.  
  
“No! You do not understand, nor does he understand what is at stake. Centuries of work could be at jeopardy, valuable words lost to time and there are things I must retrieve, pieces to combine with others. It is all very, very important and so that is why I speak to you now,” he said pressingly, looking at her with a penetrating gaze. “You must convince Haldir that this is not folly, that I and my companions need an escort and if he does not grant it himself then… then I shall throw myself upon the feet of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, begging them to see reason in this venture.”  
  
“They are wise and I am sure if what you say is true they would see reason to aid you, however if Haldir warns against such a journey…”  
  
“He says the reports of orc sightings have risen, the bands are raiding the villages of men and daring to encroach closer. They cannot touch us, of course, but they wish to taunt us and to leave is risky, but… you must see. You must see _why_ and how what I know drives me so passionately. I would risk anything for this, do you understand?”  
  
“I do, but what would you have me do?”  
  
“Convince Haldir, speak to him as his fellow warden, as one who might know the danger, and most of I all I ask that you volunteer to protect us.”  
  
“You ask a lot, Terenes. I am flattered that you hold such faith in me or that you believe I would have any sway in his decisions, but that is not his way, he follows his own guidance and that of the Lord and Lady. Any word from me and he’d likely see fit to send me away to polish all the belt buckles of every single guard in the city.”  
  
“I do not believe it, Ciradwen. You have some favor, as do your own companions. _Please_ , I beg you try, to let him hear from another and to speak for my cause…”  
  
“But I do not know your cause, Terenes, and there is truth to what Haldir says, it would likely not be wise to leave at this time,” tried Ciradwen, hoping he would see her reasoning.  
  
“I do not plan to go unarmed, nor do I plan to endanger myself. Must I wait centuries until he changes his mind? He is far too stubborn and sure of his own mind. It truly is a nuisance.”  
  
“If he was not sure of himself or wise in such matters then I do not believe he would hold the rank he does,” said Ciradwen honestly. To this and to Ciradwen’s shock Terenes leapt from his seat beside her and knelt down before her, clasping her hands in his own boldly and looking deeply into her own eyes with such an imploring emotion that she leaned back away from him, though not unkind enough to break his hold on her yet, quite curious as to what he meant by his actions.  
  
“I will owe you everything if you do this for me,” he said, desperation lacing every word in such a way that was normally most unfitting for an elf. There was no dignity in his wild and abrupt gestures but there was a sincerity that Ciradwen could not reject or fault him for.  
  
“I… I will do my best, but only on the promise that you would not throw yourself and the Lord and Lady’s feet, or that you not pester Haldir again if he refuses me…”  
  
“You are kind and you are good,” said Terenes with such earnesty that he squeezed her hands almost painfully. “With your word and the words of his brothers, I know that he would see reason.”  
  
“Oh, Terenes, do not go to his brothers… that would only serve to anger Haldir and I should think he would never speak to you again if you did such a thing. He is not harsh, but he does not like such games and you would not like the result of his disapproval.”  
  
“My dear Ciradwen, we live long, such dislikes eventually become great friendships over time, but I will heed your advice after you have given me your word that you would try on my behalf. I shall cherish what you have done for me,” he said and Ciradwen felt alarmed when she saw his eyes seemingly turn misty in the somber light of lanterns and her stomach flipped further when she spotted the passing figure of Orophin who regarded them curiously before continuing on his way alone from another walkway below. “Terenes, please rise, some may get the wrong idea,” said Ciradwen uneasily, though a bit unwittingly amused herself at the situation.  
  
“Oh, you are right, forgive me,” said Terenes releasing her and standing quickly before patting down his overcoat with some embarrassment of his own at last.  
  
“Shall we speak tomorrow on the matter? I will find him and speak with him tonight and see if he would be keen to listen to me, but I make no promises on his approval, yes?”  
  
“Of course, thank you again. I’ll– I will leave you now,” he said lightly before turning and walking towards the bridge that led to where the revelry still went on. Ciradwen sighed and wondered at how she’d handle such a task.  


* * *

  
“You will never believe what I just saw, brother,” said Orophin coming up behind Haldir who was leaning against a railing and looking on at the empty courtyard below where moonlight fell. Haldir turned to look at his brother expectantly, encouraging him to reveal whatever it was he wished to share. His mood had improved somewhat since his rather aggravating meeting with Terenes and since then he had felt it only best to distance himself from others lest his sour mood get the better of him.  
  
“I saw Terenes,” said Orophin with a bit of sensationalism in his words, but stopping when Haldir openly groaned and turned away.  
  
“Terenes has already occupied enough of my time this evening,” Haldir said shortly.  
  
“Well, he was not alone."  
  
“Oh? I’m not surprised he would find someone else to pester."  
  
“He was kneeling at the feet of Ciradwen, holding her hand in his own and it looked to be quite an amorous moment, though I dare say she looked as if she wanted to leap off the edge of the alcove rather than continue to receive his affections.”  
  
“Perhaps I had it easy in dealing with him then,” Haldir said with a sigh.  
  
“What is it he wants?”  
  
“He wishes to take a journey and endanger the lives of himself, other scribes and my wardens for some mission he cannot even verbalize clearly to me. I will not allow it.”  
  
“Oh, here she comes now… I can only guess what she wishes to speak to you about, farewell, brother!” said Orophin who nodded towards his brother and then to Ciradwen in parting as she appeared.  
  
Haldir turned to meet her and he almost wanted to find humor in the absurd expression she wore that he was sure he had on himself earlier after dealing with Terenes as well. Now he just hoped that she hadn’t been duped into speaking in Terenes’ favor to him…  
  
“Hello, Haldir,” said Ciradwen with some strain in her voice. “I hope I did not interrupt…”  
  
“No, in fact you were the topic of conversation,” he said, “partially, at least.”  
  
“Oh, you must have guessed then…”  
  
“Did he at least reveal the true purpose of his mission?”  
  
“No, he did not, but he very much pressed its importance and rather emphatically so.”  
  
“Orophin mentioned,” said Haldir not looking at her, his gaze now fixed on the starlit sky above.  
  
“Despite his… manner, he does seem very convinced of what he must do and I must admit I did wonder what it must be that compels him to such _passion_.”  
  
“And I too feel quite strongly that he needs to value his life far more than he is doing right now. To go out at such an uncertain time is folly and would undoubtedly be a great risk, not just to himself but whomever is fool enough to join him.”  
  
“He told me that he would implore the Lord and Lady if you did not give your support,” said Ciradwen seriously.  
  
“If he would dare to waste their time on this and make a fool of himself then I would not at all hesitate to speak against him, but I would sincerely hope he would not bother. He is older than most of us yet he behaves as a youngling might.”  
  
“Perhaps there is some wisdom in his actions that we do not yet see?”  
  
“I highly doubt it.”  
  
A swift breeze blew in just then, causing Ciradwen’s skirts to waver and her hair to move against her pale neck. Haldir’s fists clenched on the railing, his own hair blowing in the night before settling again on his broad shoulders. Ciradwen studied his profile, his prominent nose and jawline standing out.  
  
“I do wonder what this all means,” began Ciradwen, looking at the ground, crushed petals at her feet that had fallen from a nearby tree that bloomed. “That none of us can leave when we wish it, or so it seems."  
  
“Ciradwen, he is free to leave. He will just not waste my time doing so.”  
  
“Perhaps that will give him some hope then and perhaps he can be convinced to wait,” she said.  
  
“You can do as you like, just give him no false promises on my part or on your own.”  
  
“Very well. He may yet calm down, I will speak with him tomorrow.”  
  
“I have removed myself from his predicament as far I am concerned and you should follow suit, Ciradwen,” said Haldir now looking at her.  
  
“I shall speak with you later then,” she said with a small smile before bowing and leaving him. He watched her go, deciding he would stay where he was a little longer as she disappeared behind a corner, the fabric of her dress flowing behind her.  
  


* * *

  
Ciradwen did not have to wait long for Terenes to appear, but he was not alone as he was followed by two others, Soldarith and Vildorne who looked as resolved as Terenes did, and it worried her, realizing that it would not be so easy to dissuade them.  
  
“Ciradwen,” Terenes greeted, nodding to her and stopping as Soldarith and Vildorne stood behind him. Ciradwen nodded, taking a seat at a bench. They’d decided to meet in one of the secluded gardens where no one would disturb them.  
  
“I take it that you were able to speak with Haldir? I tried to find him today, but it seems he was occupied in the training grounds…”  
  
“I did,” said Ciradwen, still unsure of where to begin but she tried anyway, hoping that Terenes would take it well. “Haldir will not give his approval,” she said at last, Terenes scowling and Soldarith and Vildorne looking to each other nervously.  
  
“But,” Ciradwen added almost hastily, “he can not stop you from leaving. You are free to do as you like, just not with the aid you seek. You would be on your own, at your own peril.”  
  
“He believes he knows what is best, I’m sure, but… he has grown too proud in his position…”  
  
“Terenes… I appreciate what you must be trying to accomplish but with no explanation and giving us nothing to gauge its importance, how can we risk ourselves?”  
  
“You have said what you needed to, Ciradwen. Thank you for your effort,” Terenes cut in haughtily. “Come, we must go see if the Lady will meet with us.”  
  
“Please, at least wait some time until there are new reports. Haldir is not impossible, but when he is right about something then he will not waver. He cares only for the safety of our own, surely you can see that?”  
  
“I see it very well, very well indeed.”  
  
“Thank you, Ciradwen,” said Soldarith genuinely.  
  
“Yes, thank you,” added Vildorne who looked a bit pained from the same disappointment.  
  
“We will go without his help if need be,” said Terenes curtly.  
  
“When will you go see the Lady? Now? Let me at least go with you,” Ciradwen said, afraid at what lengths Terenes would go to press his quest, unconvinced that Soldarith and Vildorne would contain him if the need arose and she would feel entirely guilty if he acted foolishly enough to have himself thrown in the now vacant dungeons which had not seen a prisoner in over a millennia.  
  
“Do as you like,” said Terenes who was already walking away with Soldarith and Vildorn following his swift pace while Ciradwen ran to catch up with him down the garden path.  
  
It wasn’t just paranoia that many eyes were watching their small group ascend the home of the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn. Ciradwen, rather uncharacteristically so, felt her ears turn red and her neck grow hot, especially at the way Terenes seemed to demand entrance at the front doors after steadily walking up many stairs and platforms with a party of perturbed elves behind them. There were guards stationed out front and Ciradwen was surprised to see Haldir appear from the doors and face them with a stern expression and furrowed brow which shifted from Terenes to Ciradwen who would have shifted uneasily had she not more control of herself.  
  
“I take it you are here to present your case,” said Haldir dryly to Terenes who appeared unaffected. “Despite what I advised.”  
  
“Yes, that is correct.”  
  
Haldir stood aside, surprising all of them, most of all Terenes who gave Haldir a look of uncertainty as he passed him with the others in tow. Ciradwen gave Haldir a look that she hoped conveyed what her presence with them meant but he gave her nothing in his expression.  
  
All five elves bowed as the Lord and Lady came into view. It was Terenes who spoke first. Soldarith and Vildorne kept their eyes downcast while Haldir and Ciradwen looked on expentantly.  
  
“My Lord, my Lady,” he began with an air of humility.  
  
“We know what it is you want, as you well know, but I’d like to hear it in your own words,” Lady Galadriel said serenely, though not without an edge that demanded some fealty.  
  
“Very well, my Lady. I’d also wish to beg your forgiveness before I begin, for my impertinent arrival, but I would never have come to waste your time,” said Terenes earnestly. “It is regarding a royal lineage, one of which we thought lost and forgotten. It regards the Marilian Islands and who the rightful heir is…”  
  
Ciradwen’s eyebrows rose at this while Haldir’s turned down in scrutiny, all listening intently as Terenes continued.  
  
“It is said that the plague upon them would be lifted once their true King returned to them and I believe that I know who it is, but I cannot know unless I am given safe passage to Rivendell where I can fully examine their records to know for certain.”  
  
“And you believe that this must be done now,” stated Galadriel.  
  
“Yes, my Lady.”  
  
“The Marilian Islands have long lain stagnant, their fates forgotten for many centuries, what now would change this? Many have come to claim it and often at their own demise for no one has been able to even seek entrance to their ocean borders,” said Celeborn plainly.  
  
“You are right, my Lord, but in this I am sure and I have never been more sure in anything if there is any truth in what I found,” said Terenes.  
  
“And what is your aim, Terenes?” Celeborn asked him.  
  
“To free our kin who remain trapped, even my own kin may yet still be living there and in what misery... I do not know.”  
  
“Your quest is noble,” said the Lady, “but I fear that we side with our Marchwarden on what we can spare, for anyone involved may open the doors to many things causing great grief and strife.”  
  
“But, my Lady…”  
  
“You are free to leave with your companions and anyone who wishes to join you of their own free will may do so,” Galadriel said, her eyes falling on Ciradwen before passing to Haldir briefly and back to Terenes who appeared to have risen from his previously wilted state.  
  
“Can no one help us as we are likely to face great danger?” asked Vildorne suddenly, features strained in anxiety most unfitting for an elf.  
  
“Vildorne,” warned Terenes from over his shoulder.  
  
“As I said, you are free to go or stay, as is anyone else.”  
  
“Thank you my Lady, my Lord. Your wisdom will always excel my own and I thank you greatly for your words of caution,“ Terenes said finally.  
  
“Be warned, Terenes Othredian, that the cost of the truth may be greater than you imagined,” warned Galadriel cryptically. “Yes, my Lady,” said Terenes unmoved and it was then that Ciradwen truly feared for their them. They would not survive, that much was certain, unless someone took the helm to guard their safety, but who would be foolish enough to take on such a task? No one. And that is what worried her.  
  
Terenes and the others dismissed themselves as did Ciradwen, though Haldir remained and she turned to see him speaking with the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel himself, though she could hear no words spoken from their lips.  
  


* * *

  
Ciradwen returned to her talan to find Orelfen familiarly seated once again in his frequent spot of leisure, just as he had many, many times before and taking on the role of a stern figure who held many questions just as their adar once did.  
  
“Something is happening, isn’t it?” he said between two fingers, palm resting under his chin casually.  
  
“Yes, something is always happening,” said Ciradwen teasingly.  
  
“Do I want to know?”  
  
“It is best that you do not, for it would surely fray whatever nerves you have left and give your head an ache most severe.”  
  
“I see. Then I suppose it is best that I do not know.”  
  
“Have you been speaking to Rumil and Orophin per chance?”  
  
“Yes. They do not have such a regard for my nerves, however.”  
  
“Ah, well, worry not. None of it has anything to do with us,” she assured, though she could not shake the strange feeling of guilt that she was lying to Orelfen when she was sure she was not.  
  
A soft knock was heard at the door, surprising Ciradwen who wondered if it was Haldir returning with some further word but was instead surprised to see Soldarith, alone.  
  
“Soldarith, please come in,” said Ciradwen, moving aside to allow her entrance into their talan. Orelfen acted as if a hot pan had been placed beneath him and rose at her appearance swiftly to bow and greet her cordially.  
  
“Calm yourself, Orelfen,” chided Ciradwen with a note of amusement.  
  
“Forgive me for appearing without notice,” Soldarith said, deep golden plaits of hair adorning her head like a crown. Her eyes shone a bright green in the fading light and Orelfen stood transfixed before her, unable to speak, though he did mutely gesture for her to be seated before quickly disappearing and returning with a pitcher of water and cups.  
  
“I want to apologize for Terenes,” said Soldarith, her eyes on the cup that Orelfen had just handed her. Orelfen sat across from her and looked to Ciradwen curiously.  
  
“He has spent so long in deep study that I think he often forgets how his manner can… upset others,” she said, stopping to take a sip.  
  
“It is alright, Soldarith, but I do worry for him now after hearing what he had to say, as well as for you and Vildorne,” Ciradwen said, watching Orelfen’s movements shifting in the corner of her eye. None had ever spoken of it, but Ciradwen was sure that Orelfen’s regard for Soldarith encroached on feelings far more tender than what he’d ever admit to.  
  
“That is why I come to you now, to ask you for your assistance,” said Soldairth now looking at her with the same desperation in her eyes that Terenes held the night before, making Ciradwen want to cringe.  
  
“All three of us know how to wield a sword, to hold a bow, but we are mere children in comparison to your skill and that of the other wardens. Our journey will be wrought with peril, as it has been already mentioned many times. You know the risks as well as Haldir, but he has given up on us, as he has every right to… but… I– we… we have no one else to turn to now. You are our only hope for any chance at a safe passage to Rivendell if what they say lies outside our borders is true, we may very perish on the first day.”  
  
Ciradwen said nothing, ignoring the way Orelfen seemed to be boring a hole through her shoulder with his intense gaze, as well as the miserable look that Soldarith gave her, waiting.  
  
“Soldarith, you ask much of me…”  
  
“I know it, I truly do, but this means Terenes’ heart which would surely break if he did nothing with this knowledge and… my own heart would break at that, I could not bear to see it or worse, that our own kind, our own neighbors should die alone when that could easily be helped.”  
  
Silence reigned in their small sitting area and Ciradwen strained her ears to hear the sound of trickling water from a fountain outside, anything to quell the surge of uncomfortable feelings Soldarith trudged up by asking what she did.  
  
Ciradwen had not left the borders of Lothlorien in many years and it had once been true that she wished to explore the world outside, to meet with others of her own kind and even to experience an adventure of her own. Now that a true quest had at last appeared Ciradwen found that she did not know what it was she wanted to do. But what she wanted, or did not want, hadn't anything to do in what was right, and perhaps that is what the Lady meant to say to her when she looked at her so strangely, as if she had hinted to something of Ciradwen's own involvement, but how? Surely she was trained and well enough to handle herself, she was no stranger to battle, or orc slaying, or even the slaying of foul men who sometimes roved in bands to sack villages, as well as rob and murder lone travelers. Perhaps she had grown complacent in her position as a warden, stationed at the fences and doing little but stare out into the night with only the whistling of birds for company and the occasional barb of conversation from her partners Lethelrin, Ronair and Melveroë.  
  
“I would owe you a great debt,” said Soldarith breaking the silence. “Anything you should ask of me, any boon, I would give it.”  
  
Ciradwen stared at her, the brief thought of ‘perhaps your hand in marriage for my poor weak brother’ but discarded that thought away for it was ridiculous and it almost made her want to laugh to herself, but she did not, for the matter at hand was still serious and unresolved. Ciradwen turned to her brother then who looked just as troubled and lost as she was sure she did.  
  
“Orelfen, what say you?”  
  
“I cannot speak for you, Ciradwen, you must decide for yourself what is best,” said Orelfen with some reluctance and when he stopped speaking he took to examining his hands as if he were merely a spectator in the conversation, which she supposed he in fact was. This was up to her and her alone.  
  
“When would you leave? Have you discussed this with Terenes and Vildorne yet?”  
  
“In three days.”  
  
“I see, that is very soon.”  
  
“If our hope lies anywhere else I would not waste your time…”  
  
Ciradwen sighed. She would pretend that she was always steadfast or true in courage, she was capable of it yes, but many times she had let her fear get the better of her, though mostly in benign personal matters, but this was not some simple request. Others were seeking her help, true help and either she showed herself to be a wise coward or a foolish savior. “You will have my support,” conceded Ciradwen. “And whatever skill I possess on this quest. Doomed to failure or otherwise.”  
  
“Thank you, Ciradwen! Thank you! You are the best of them all, even braver than most, I owe you a great debt,” gushed Soldarith with such happiness that Ciradwen wondered how devastated she would have been if she had said no to her.  
  
“I will go speak with Terenes now, he will be so pleased,” Sodarith said, rising to leave but not before placing a hand to her chest, to which Ciradwen returned the gesture with a timid smile. When the door shut behind her Ciradwen stood, Orelfen coming behind her and she swore she could feel the heavy weight he now held after she’d announced her decision.  
  
“So, you will now go on a great quest,” Orelfen stated.  
  
“It is just to Rivendell, perhaps it will be very uneventful and all this alarm was for nought.”  
  
“Perhaps,” he said.  
  


* * *

  
The next day brought with it the spreading of word and it was word of Terenes’ quest, now Ciradwen’s too, that quickly became the main topic of discussion which led to much surprise, complete indifference and dry disapproval. Though it was Haldir’s reaction that Ciradwen had not at all expected when she heard a far harsher series of knocks on their door than she had perhaps ever heard as no one had ever been so anxious as Haldir appeared when she opened the door. Ciradwen stared at him, blinking.  
  
“Haldir,” greeted Ciradwen mildly when he said nothing, merely staring at her with such aggravation that she almost feared him was she not certain she could match him in sparring if he’d pushed her enough.  
  
“Ciradwen,” he said, her name rolling of his tongue with a deliberate accent.  
  
“Please come in,” she said rather weakly, unsure of what would transpire once behind closed doors. To her surprise and great relief he did not proceed to shout at her or throw things about, not that he had ever exhibited such behavior, but after experiencing Terenes’ and Soldarith's desperate moods she felt rather uncertain of any elf.  
  
“Lady Galadriel may have said that we are all free to leave as we please, but that does not excuse one of their duties,” began Haldir, arms held behind him as he walked circles around their rug. “You have duties, Ciradwen, despite being currently on leave.”  
  
“I understand that, Haldir, forgive me,” said Ciradwen, for what else was she to say?  
  
“Your going is bad enough but now I shall lose three more to this quest of fancy,” Haldir said sternly. Ciradwen had been watching the way his thumbs shifted back and forth in his clasped hands behind his back but stopped, looking to him with alarm when she registered what he said.  
  
“I’m sorry, but three others? I do not understand,” said Ciradwen, not liking where this was going, though she would be lying if she did not feel some relief at this news for it meant that she would not be alone.  
  
“Your fellow wardens, of course, your companions… _your friends_. They wish to join you. It seems their own duties here bore them and they wish to join in on what is becoming a rather popular venture despite the fact that it may lose you your lives.”  
  
“I could not say no, Haldir, it may be because I am weak and their desperation moved me. But please know that I asked no one to partake in this affair,” said Ciradwen reasonably. “I could not leave them to fend for themselves.”  
  
Haldir’s nostrils flared, his jaw tightening and working on something reproachful he likely wanted to add but he said nothing, instead continuing to merely walk more holes into her floor.  
  
Orelfen came into the sitting area likely from his room, but stopped when he caught sight of Haldir and his expression, and promptly turned on his heel and returned back to his room as if he had never been there.  
  
Ciradwen would have laughed were she not sure it would really rise Haldir’s ire.  
  
“I likely would have relented myself eventually,” Haldir finally said. “But that does not change my feelings on the matter, that they are foolish and have likely doomed themselves and my own for their whims and you know I would not say such things lightly if I had not the reports to back it. Bodies have turned up in the river, of men and other creatures, and their _end_ was familiar enough to warrant alarm.”  
  
Ciradwen felt the creeping tendrils of trepidation at his dire words.  
  
“Then we shall have to be on extra guard,” said Ciradwen, sighing lightly. She could feel Haldir’s presence far too much in the moment, as if there were some working of emotions going on without her knowing and it served only to tire her, making her to wish for retreat from his heavy, burdensome stare he trained on her.   
  
He could at times be too intense and it both intrigued and frightened her, things she would never admit to anyone. Whatever feelings she had for him were ones she kept locked tight away in a little box, something to occasionally open for a peek, only to promptly close and stash away without another thought.  
  
“I will be there to see you off when the time comes then,” said Haldir with finality and walked out the door without another word.  
  


* * *

  
It was the night before they would embark and Ciradwen stalked among the trees and homes of the elves like a ghost, light steps leading her to one talan in particular. She was not empty handed.  
  
Ciradwen climbed up the back, avoiding the front stairwell and finding herself in the level which held his talan. It was dark and Ciradwen peered through a window, satisfied when she picked up no movement within. She held her body against the walls around until, almost leaping from the shadows like a prowling cat, found the barren beam.  
  
Quickly unwrapping a loose cloth she pulled out what it held; a small blue and white wreath with long, thin strands of flowing silver ribbon some of which she used to attach to the solitary beam, her eyes still sharp on any movement from the paths below or any of the neighboring talans. When it was secure she came back around from whence she came and stealthily slid down, landing softly by some large roots sticking out from the ground before making a quick skip to a nearby vacant path obscured by low lying bushes, taking her back to her own home.  
  
She did not see the movement in one of the lower talans, eyes following her quickly retreating form with some curiosity and amusement.  
  


* * *

  
“It is not too late to bow out, my friends,” said Ciradwen quietly with a note of humor beneath the seriousness.  
  
“We wouldn’t think of it,” said Lethelrin matching her tone, the ghost of a smile on his lips as he regarded her.  
  
“Here they come at last,” Melveroë stated, eyes turned to the path where three other elves appeared. As if on cue Haldir too appeared from another direction and Ciradwen regarded him from the side of her eye, schooling her expression to a cool neutrality. Roanir seemed to shift beside her as he turned to look at the approaching Marchwarden.  
  
“He does not appear to be very cross, I think,” said Roanir mildly in her ear. The narrowing of Haldir’s eyes made them realize that he had heard.  
  
“We will escort you to the border,” began Haldir, “and no further. I trust that you all have begun the day at your best and are fully prepared.”  
  
“We are, thank you,” said Lethelrin.  
  
“Thank me not, for if it was up to me…” Haldir trailed off, fixing them with a dark stare. “Instead I will part with you all my best for your safe return. May you achieve your quest, Terenes.”  
  
“Thank you, Marchwarden,” Terenes said genuinely.  
  
With that they set off, following him on foot, watching as many elves appeared to see them off, a faint song of farewell on their lips that carried in the wind out into the forest where they went steadily.  
  
On the way, none spoke, despite all of them having many words on their minds and in their hearts even after several hours, that is until the watching wardens and Haldir himself halted, all sending gestures of farewell which the traveling party returned, taking a final image of the golden wood with them.  
  
None looked back again.  
  


* * *

  
Haldir had not bothered to rest the night before, instead having spent his time at the training grounds and going over coming reports from his wardens who had nothing new since a week ago. He was angry, yes, but he thought he’d handled those feelings well enough, especially with Ciradwen, whom he could not fathom such calmness from as she prepared for something so dangerous. Rarely did anyone leave, least of all during a time when such news was troubling, but Haldir realized, especially after seeking council from Lady Galadriel, that there was nothing he could have done to change the course of Terenes’ aims.  
  
He had not missed the look of sadness, however, that seemed to cross her eyes so briefly and yet so solemnly when the discussion had come to an end. He tried not to dwell on it too much for it was now out of his hands and he at least had some faith in Ciradwen, Lethelrin and Melveroë who were some of his most well trained wardens.  
  
Still, the unsettling emotions remained.  
  
It was well after he’d escorted their party when he returned back home to Caras Galadhon, his normally light gait transformed into heavy steps that matched his mood. The city was still bedecked in wreaths, hanging ladders of flowers and leaves hung from branches side by side with soon-to-be glowing lanterns, and while normally he felt indifferent to such decoration, it was now a reminder how much he cherished his home and what happiness prevailed there during that time of the year despite what went on outside of it.  
  
When he finally reached his talan he stopped, the sight of something small and light waving in the breeze just outside his door.  
  
It was a wreath, he realized, and one most certainly not placed by himself, for he had never bothered, nor had he been gifted one in a long, long time. He stared at it, ascending the stairs past his brother’s doors until he stopped right before it, careful fingers reaching to touch the smooth silver ribbon. Someone had taken the time to assemble such a thing, it seemed, and gifted it to him.  
  
His eyebrow rose, for there was some meaning to the small gesture and he could not help the quirk of his lips in a knowing smile the longer it dawned on him.


	3. The Search

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably going to have to add some more warnings for this story...
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:
> 
> *Death.  
> *Descriptions of decomposition.  
> *Brief descriptions of torture.

Ciradwen awoke sometime mid-journey with only the faint light shining through the old sack still over her head and tightened at the neck loosely. She was being carried, she realized, over someone’s shoulder and her whole body shook with each jostling movement, her limp arms bouncing by her head. She must have stiffened her body when she awoke, inadvertently alerting her captor to her now conscious state because they then ceased their movements before throwing her off and dropping her on the hard, damp ground.  
  
“Master says we can rest,” she heard a grating voice say above her.  
  
Tied ropes around her wrists burned and when she tried to move them, to test the tightness and strength, she found that there was no looseness in them at all, merely making them cut deeper below her bracers. Her feet were bound as well, but at least she had the protection of her long boots to protect the skin of her ankles.  
  
The orcs spoke, or rather argued, among themselves for a while, but she could not hear any other voices speaking until she heard a strangled grunt a few paces away that was quickly silenced. Unable to tell who it was by that alone, she did try to find comfort in knowing that it was likely one of her companions and that they still lived, imagining that the orcs would likely make them stop to watch if they had killed any one of them.  
  
They would not miss such a spectacle of entertainment, that much she understood about them.  
  
 _You can still get out of this._  
  
She tried to spit out the rag that had been unceremoniously jammed into her mouth but found she could not, succeeding in only experiencing the foul taste of it and grunting angrily, only to be met with a hard kick to her side which made her stall her movements.  
  
 _Breathe.  
  
_ Ciradwen briefly remembered the first day of their journey outside their home borders and what they'd seen; a torn cloak hanging from a long stick that had been stuck in the ground. The hem had been frayed, the edges torn and familiar spots of a rusty red color near the neck of it.  
  
" _A traveler's forgotten laundry, nothing more_ ," Terenes had said to them as they moved on, but they had been unable to forget it.  
  
Perhaps they should have known, should have turned back that very instant. But they hadn't.  
  
It wasn’t long until she felt herself hoisted up roughly again and that time she did not struggle, merely waiting for the right moment that had yet to come. Ciradwen let herself fall to the darkness then, even if just briefly, but that had not meant she had given up.  
  
 _Bide your time._  


* * *

  
Numerous heavy storms had passed through the mountain plains of late, almost washing all traces of any tracks in the past weeks, but in the air there remained the hint of something that could not go unnoticed by the group of elves traveling until at last their keen sense picked up movement, a blur of white flapping in the harsh wind, a stark contrast held onto the branch of a young tree stunted and bent near what looked like the entrance to a recessed mountainside path.  
  
They followed a trail to it, sparing no time and when they reached what must have been a marker meant for them as the mouth of a cavern was revealed below and near the entrance there was a downed tree, split down the middle and looked to be charred from what must have been a strike of lightening, or so they guessed.  
  
Approaching it they were then hit by an unmistakable odor that almost halted their steps. It was distinctly sweet and rancid, making the search party gag as a spool of dread wound itself around their nerves, though reluctantly drawing them in to the muddy entrance anyway, with each elf bracing themselves for what waited within.  
  
Haldir tightened his grip on his bow, unease coursing through his veins like frigid ice water.  
  
The sight that met them inside made them all stop and go no further.  
  
In the center was a stake and atop it rested a decomposing head.  
  
He almost did not recognize whom it belonged to, but the longer his horrified eyes looked upon it, he began to recognize the features; the lines around its mouth when he ignored the ghastly sight of its bulging tongue skewered within, the nose with a familiar pointed tip and even the shape of its rotting eyes filled with squirming, falling maggots.  
  
He had expected the worst, but he had still not been prepared for such a sight.  
  
“It is Terenes,” Haldir confirmed at last, his arm raised to cover his nose and mouth as he felt himself overcome with a grimace.  
  
“There are some parts of the body scattered around, left from whatever animals came and feasted,” Rumil said grimly, mimicking his brothers movements.  
  
“I see no other remains, aside from orcs, Haldir,” Algorian said. He was a tall elf with a narrow frame and copper colored hair and a valued member of his command. “They must have been taken.”  
  
“We must not lose hope yet then,” said Haldir, turning away. “Let us bury what is left of him. We will have to make due and do it with as much respect as we are able."  
  
The others nodded, setting themselves to the task without delay. His stomach rolled at the sight, finding that he did feel grief at the loss of Terenes. The strong-willed elf had not deserved this and he knew that there must have been much more at work for him to be left displayed in such a way and with no other bodies. In fact, there was not a single trace of the others except for the disturbed marks of many footprints still in the muck which faded away out of the cavern and what must have been a campfire long ago burned out.  
  
“What should I tell Orelfen? He chose not to come down and waits at the ridge,” Orophin asked Haldir.  
  
“Tell him we have not given up and tell him that his sister may still be with us."   
  
Orophin nodded and swiftly walked out of the cavern to relay the message he’d been given. It may have been a mistake, Haldir thought, to allow Orelfen to join them, but he had not had the heart to turn him down.  
  
There was nothing he could have done, not really, when it came to Ciradwen’s and the other's leaving, but still he felt a heavy pang of guilt and the nagging thought that maybe there was some solution he had not had the tact or quick thinking to use and sway Terenes, but was no point in going over it now, however.  
  
He had to keep focused, he realized.  
  
Mulling over such thoughts only hindered him and he did not need that when so much was at stake.  
  


* * *

  
Ciradwen had known pain. She had known the pain of the heart, the kind that never really left, and she knew the kind of pain that a flesh and blood body could feel.   
  
She had felt the pierce of an arrow once before, the slice of a blade through her skin like paper, the breaking of a bone, the taste of her own blood. But there had been enough peace and healing time between to keep her from despair. There had always been someone to soothe her aches, mend her gashes and wipe the crimson from her brow just as she had done for others, and on top of that having the benefit of healing quickly.  
  
But Ciradwen had felt another pain with Amondur, the pain of her spirit being ripped apart, as well as the physical pain and the heartbreak from knowing that she may never escape. Ciradwen had never before screamed as she did in Amondur’s grasp and she had never heard such terror in the shrill screams of her own kind before. Sometimes they would echo in unison, other times they would follow each other back and forth like some macabre melody until she cursed her sensitive hearing.  
  
He had not hurt her physically on this day, but instead chose to invade her mind, prying open thoughts and memories apart for dissection. He did not appear to be interested in what he found, though the memory of Terenes’ meeting with the Lady Galadriel that she had been present for had held his interest, but only briefly before he abruptly and quite roughly removed his presence from her mind, leaving her feeling drained and violated and with little will to move save for holding herself up.  
  
It was not always Amondur who appeared to implement torture, other times it was crooked and hunched orcs who appeared to administer what their master had prescribed and other times it was the race of men, their eyes dead without any hope and wearing stinking scraps for clothing until it displeased their master so much he demanded they be cleaned in scalding water. Only the orcs seemed to take delight in their task. Amondur was often without feeling and expressed very little except rage when his minions disobeyed or were unable to comprehend his detailed orders.  
  
“You are looking more pale,” Amondur said, looking down at Ciradwen who remained seated on an old cot, a manacle held onto her ankle latched to the wall by a chain. She felt weak and breathed heavily, a strong headache now emerging.  
  
Her eyes roved slowly to meet his own in some barely restrained defiance.  
  
“We will have to cut your hair,” he said as if it were an after thought, quickly leaving her alone to her miserable thoughts with the slam of her cell door, its locks clicking into place. She could only wonder how the others fared.  
  
It wasn’t much later when a limping goblin appeared, rusting sheers clutched in his long, gnarled and sharpened fingers while a stronger, more vicious looking orc lingered behind him, holding a large blunt axe and swinging it with the glee a child might have with a new toy.  
  
“The master says I might keep your pretty long locks to add to my collection to _keep_ and be _mine_ , so generous he is!” said the goblin gleefully who Ciradwen had known as Breck. He was the one that often came to make her choke down putrid vials, often much to the great amusement the guards watching.  
  
He was far shorted than she was, as was the orc, but what they lacked in stature they made up for viciousness, bulk and unpredictability. She could snap this one’s neck and perhaps overpower the other with the stolen shears, for she know they had little proficiency with their weapons, depending only blunt force and numbers often on their side. But then what? She would make it into the hall only to be outnumbered and then overtaken once more. CIradwen would wait. She only hoped that the others, wherever they were, were able and willing to do the same.  
  
Ciradwen watched as clumps of her dark golden hair fell at her dirtied feet in far longer pieces than she had expected. “For what purpose is there in this? We do not catch pests as the others do,” said Ciradwen who remained still, only to cringe when the jagged blade nipped her ear causing it to bleed.  
  
“The master’s reasons are his own,” was the reply Breck gave her, seemingly enjoying his task far greater than she was. It was just hair, Ciradwen had told herself, but the sight of it at her feet did cause her to lament a little.  
  
When he was finished, Ciradwen was left with many cuts along her scalp, some dripping down her neck. Other parts were left uneven and chopped messily, some longer while other patches were left almost bald. She was glad there were no mirrors in her cell, though she could still catch her own reflection in a pail of water that had been left for her there.   
  
When left finally alone she covered her face with her hands, laughing feebly to herself.  
  
 _Just a little longer.  
_ __

* * *

  
“We may never find them,” Orelfen said one night as he gazed deeply into the flames of their campfire.  
  
Haldir turned sharply at his words and looked at him with a frown.  
  
The search had not ended yet, though they had very little to work with in the means of finding the remaining members of the ill-fated party. It was only by chance they had been summoned to even look for them, first by reports of strange artifacts left just outside the border, all random pieces that had hinted to something bizarre and grisly happening, all of it tying to a mystery that could not ignore, not when so many of their own had left them and had likely wandered into whatever it was that was causing such disconcerting displays. Yet only one body had been found and that enough to encourage the Marchwarden to continue the search.  
  
“No, we may not, but there is also a chance that _we may,_ and I do not intend to lose hope so soon,” said Haldir far harsher than he’d meant to. Orelfen, however, appeared unaffected, his mind lost to other thoughts that plagued him.  
  
“I should feel something, should I not?”  
  
“What do you mean?” Rumil asked from his high wooded perch above them.  
  
“She is my sister, all that I have, would I not feel her death? Yet I feel nothing, only my own fear. What if she has perished and I do not even know it?”  
  
“I cannot say what you should or should not feel, but there is much more to all of this than we have been able to perceive and it has not been done by mere means,” said Haldir simply.  
  
“I should have not let her go,” Orelfen said, painful emotion flickering in his eyes, “I did not even try to stop her. I never do. Now she may be dead and I may never know for certain.”  
  
“Keep hope, we still have much further to go,” Orophin said kindly.  
  
The elf nodded to this and spoke no more, his eyes held transfixed on the lapping flames of the campfire while Haldir could not bare to stand around any longer and left them without another word.


	4. The Severance

Ciradwen passed the longs hours in her cell in a haze. Time was different for the elves, but not so much so that the monotony and torture of imprisonment did not make her long for it to end. Had it been weeks or months? She didn’t know.   
  
Her cell was dark, though unfortunately not dark enough that she did not feel disgust when she noticed various unpleasant stains on the grim stone walls, nor the scurrying of foul creatures through the narrow cracks, and the lump of old wool thrown over straw that was meant to be a bed smelled worse than death and human waste combined.   
  
But none of that compared to the agony of not knowing where or what was happening to her companions.   
  
Not knowing if  Melveroë had perished or if the others succumbed to grief was what nagged at her mind for hours on end and it had been too long since she had seen any of them.    
  
Often she would strain her ears for as long as she could to hear anything, but all the pain-filled shouts and shrieks could have belonged to anyone. A dark part of her had hoped it was not them, not her own people, though deep down she knew how unlikely that was.   
  
Sometimes in states of deep contemplation she imagined she could catch glimpses of her home, of Lorien, her talan and her brother Orelfen, and even Haldir, albeit briefly.    
  
“Do you know we’ve been delayed?”  Ciradwen whispered into the cold darkness with a sad smile, her voice sounding strained to her ears.   
  
She did not startle when suddenly the cell doors were flung upon and a clawing, brutish grip was pulling her up and shackling her wrists before undoing the one clamped on her ankle. A strange sort of paralyzing fear seized her and on impulse she tried to resist, kicking and attempting to throttle her fists at the guard until he hissed at her as if he were a great foul snake and connected his blunt fist with her temple, making her see flashes of beautiful stars followed by a splitting pain that subdued her movements almost instantly. She could have fought more, but Ciradwen knew it would be for nought.    
  
She would not rise, so the orc guard ended up dragging her by the chain attached to her now shackled wrists, splitting the skin and drawing fresh new blood.   
  
“It tis a shame they cut your locks, it was easier to pull you by!”  the orc growled.   
  
But she was no longer paying any attention to the orc when something outside her cell caught her attention as if she ’ d been hit with an arrow.   
  
“Lethelrin!”  Ciradwen screamed.   
  
His own hair had been viciously shorn just as her’s had been and he was shirtless, wearing only a pair of the same leggings she’d last seen him in. His torso was lined with cruel marks and slashes as well as familiar brands that were now on her own skin in symbols she did not recognize. She hadn’t thought much of them, but seeing them on Lethelrin’s poor body it finally struck her that it was a detail she could not ignore, not anymore. But he did not look back at her, his eyes merely looking up at the ceiling where some outside light shined through until he was out of sight, pushed along by another guard in passing.   
  
“Lethelrin!  Are you well?”  she tried once more, almost screaming, but heard only the orc that held her rumble in agitation as he struck her again.   
  
Blackness, desolation, nothingness.    
  
Then it was Amondur’s death-like face that was greeting her into awakening. Once again she was propped against a wood and metal plank that had her standing upright with her wrists, ankles and mid-section locked securely in place.   
  
“You are beginning to show great promise,”  said Amondur coldly.   
  
“And what promise is that?”   
  
Her words were a little slurred and it suddenly hurt to speak, especially through her cracked lips and dry throat.   
  
“Would you truly like to know?”   
  
“No, but I expect I should,”  she told him, closing her eyes for a moment so as not to look upon him for too long. His presence made her feel ill.   
  
A cold hand clasped her chin before softening into a gentle caress along her jaw and it made her eyes bolt open in shock, something sickly clenching in her stomach at the contact.   
  
“I see some change in you already. The color in the white of your eyes, the hue beneath your skin …  before too long you will be the very living image of all my sought after work, but you have to pass a few more trials before that can come to be. The others have not shone as much promise as you, well, except one other, but today ’ s treatments have not had the desired effect I had hoped for…”   
  
Ciradwen could not find the words to speak her disgust even though she did fully comprehend what he had told her. The brief image of Lethelrin suddenly flashed in her mind and as if it were one she could look upon clearly again she found herself remembering details that she had disregarded before, but with Amondur’s words she remembered something in her companion’s blank stare; a hint of yellow in his eyes that looked sickly and his skin having a somewhat bluish pallor. Unable to restrain herself she managed to look at her own arms. It was easier in this light than in the dim of her cell, but she saw it now; her veins were more prominent and her skin held a light aqua tint to it that was altogether foreign and unsettling. She dreaded to think what her eyes looked like.   
  
“What are you doing to us? Is this why you force me to take those horrid vials? Why you carve and burn strange marks into my flesh? ”   
  
Amondur merely nodded, releasing his hold on her jaw.  “ Magic is a rather malleable thing once you learn its full properties and potential. It can be moved and changed by a strong will and with our kind,  Elvish kind, magic runs deep within our blood. And since they mingle, that can be changed, too. There are many creatures in Middle Earth who have undergone similar modifications with mixed success, but they all fascinated me so, and I have sought to be a master in that art. ”   
  
“And who is  _your_ master?”  Ciradwen hissed between gritted teeth.   
  
“After my banishment long ago I decided that I had no need for a master, not anymore. But I took what I needed, yes. Now you meet me as I am;  **free**.”   
  
Amondur said no more after that, but she watched as he seemed to be reminiscing silently, micro-expressions of joy and anger mechanically flickering over a face that was capable of the muscle and movement, but yet lacked the life one might have expected. She had never seen someone like him before, nor had she ever seen an elf so changed. The point of his nose and chin were sharp, as were the cut of his high cheekbones and she could not shake the notion that there was something not natural about him or his appearance that went beyond the dark energy he radiated. He had been altered, but in what way or how she could not say.   
  
Being in his mere presence made her feel ill.   
  
He then turned away from Ciradwen, leaving his back to face her as he tended to something on an old table with many drawers and rusted hinges. She knew what would come next, though she always imagined, or rather hoped, that it would be different.   
  
Turning back to her she watched him with trepidation as something glowed red inside a spherical vial in his palm. It lit the dreary shadows of his matching red cloak and robes that he always wore and defined face gruesomely, even more so when his lips quirked into a fiendish grin as he leered at her with an unkind intent. What he held was something she had not seen before.   
  
“Why did you kill Terenes?”   
  
Anything to stall the inevitable.    
  
“He was of no use to me. Younger elves fare much better and I would give anything for an elven child to be in my position, but they are quite rare and hard to come by, as you know. Half-breeds are entirely useless to me as well.”   
  
“And what is that you have?”   
  
She could not hide the slight tremble in her limbs and worse —  her own words.   
  
“The next part of my experiment.”   
  
It was different than the other tortures he had inflicted, Ciradwen realized, but there would be no point in protesting.   
  
After pulling the glass top from it with a pop, the effervescent substance within seemed to rise and separate into small quivering tendrils that sparked red and gold. She worried that he would pour it down her throat, that it would burn her flesh like the branding he ’ d given her before, but instead of forcing her to consume it he tipped it over and poured it down the front of her neck and chest.   
  
“No, no,”  Ciradwen pleaded.  “I don’t —“   
  
But it was too late. It did not burn as she expected, but was cold, so cold that it made her gasp and she could not help but throw her head back in a silent scream when it began seeping through her very pores, her  skin , and worming its way deep into her chest, filling her with a sensation of crippling frigidity that wrapped itself around her lungs and heart, forcing out the air and infecting the flow of her own blood. Many minutes passed and she lived without breath, without the flow of blood, but entirely conscious to the sensation of being completely frozen within.    
  
No words came, and she merely watched as Amondur looked on at her condition intently, a twisted sort of smile still painted on his chilling visage.    
  
Then it stopped.   
  
The coldness ebbed and then a tide of warmth filled her, making her extremities tingle while a loud buzzing and ringing erupted in her ears before it became hot, very hot, the temperature rising too quickly.   
  
She was burning, her skin was on fire, even her eyes did not feel like her eyes, but hot coals placed in her sockets instead. And it was then that Ciradwen found her voice; a low, guttural roar of rage that was ripped from her stressed lungs before tapering off into a pitiful moan of despair.   
  
“ _No_ ,”  was she could manage, fearing for what it all meant.   
  
“Yes,”  said Amondur, pleased, but he had spoken to himself.  “ The change is almost complete now.”   
_  
No_.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think!


End file.
